unconsciously searching

Chapter 3

So, I guess you could say my first day of high school wasn't to bad. I mean, despite the number of teachers that placed my desk right beside theirs, and the visit to the counselors for a meeting about what behaviors they expect from me and what not, it actually wasn't half bad. No matter how hard I tired I couldn't help but think about Beth. I have never really taken an interest in the opposite sex until today, I guess I have just had to much on my mind.

But now that I was walking home alone, I had plenty to think about.

I have never liked walking places alone, it gives me to much time to think about stuff.

My life has just been a chain of unfortunate events.

I guess it all started off when I was born, see, my parents never really got along and when they were 16, my mom became pregnant with me. I have never met my dad. He took off the day I was born and has never even sent me a birthday card. I guess it sucked at first, but when you grow up your whole life without something, It becomes hard to learn to miss it. When I was 7 my mom started get involved with drugs, she was in and out of rehab and jail for as long as I could remember. When she couldn't take care of me, I was put into the foster care system, kids that lived with me would always make fun of me and beat me up. One time it got so bad I had to get stitches in my forehead, leaving a permanent mark. When I was 13 my mom got out of rehab and decided to start a new life with her boyfriend Troy. I hated him and it was hard for me to hide it. When I talked back or got a call home from school, he would take a cigarette and press the lit end against my skin, leaving multiple scars on my arms. When high school began, I started doing things I shouldn't be doing, drinking and drugs mostly. I got kicked out of 4 schools my freshman year and had to go to a 6 month rehabilitation center after I overdosed on heroin. I think the worst thing was my mom didn't even care because she was so hung up over Troy leaving her. May 16th Was the day my mom died, because of a drug overdose. I remember hearing her crying in her bedroom, when I walked in she was on the ground. I ran up to her as quickly as possible and felt her hands, she was cold. I didn't know what to do so I went to the phone and called 9-11. When I got back to her bedroom she had choked on her own vomit and was dead. The months after that were the hardest. I started to hurt myself, I drank again and smoked pot. I began to believe that the death of my mother was my fault. I didn't cry when she died, I didn't cry until months after. I was put into a foster home and they kicked me out within 2 weeks. There were days when I had to sleep in a children's orphanage because they had no where else to put me. June 4th I brought a knife to school and tried to hurt one of the jocks who had been on my case all year. I remember pulling out the knife and throwing it at him, I remember people grabbing my arms and pulling me away, I remember struggling to get free, but most of all, I remember relaxing my muscles, and crying. I front of the whole school I had broken and I sat in the hallway with teachers, students and police officers all watching me as I fell to the floor and cried. A police officer appeared at my feet and helped me up. "We're gonna take you in bud, don't worry, you're ok" I still remember him saying that to me.

I never went back to that school after that day, I was sent to 4 months in Juvi and another 3 months in rehab. I was then put back into foster care (even though I begged them not to) and was enrolled into a new school for the start of the new year.

All those things sucked, but I think the worse thing about it is that the one person who could of helped me, the one person who could of fixed things was my father, ad he didn't even send a damn birthday card.

And that's why I don't like walking home alone.